A Real Rib Tickler

It's lucky I enjoy it. It really is. If I didn't I'd have to wonder why I did it because when you think about it, you know from a distance and in the cold light of day, it's a bit odd.

Sorry? Oh, I'm talking about running of course. Yes we all run from time to time, but it is usually out of necessity; to catch a bus, to cross the road without getting knocked down or to catch up with someone ahead of you. Or conversely, to run away from someone or something. Which reminds me of a photograph of sign I saw in a magazine. This particular sign was nailed to the post of a field gate and posed the question "Can you cross this field in less than 12 seconds? No? Well the bull can!" Very droll but I have digressed.

Yes most of us only run when it us absolutely necessary. The more mobile option of the fight or flee instinct if you like. So how odd is it to get up early on a cold Sunday morning, begrudgingly eat a bowl of porridge before driving to a nearby forest and run around in circles for an hour or so with other like minded strangers. Odd? Yes, very. And this Sunday we had even paid for the privilege. Sheer lunacy.

And so it was that we arrived in Totara Forestry, a spit and a hip from Auckland centre, to run around the forest trails  looking like a pack of demented and lost hikers. Except wearing less clothes than would be ordinarily advisable. 

The 11k route was one of the more gentler races in this season's Xterra calendar so I was fully expecting to break the hour mark. That was my target and by george I was going to break it. About 6k in, it was all going reasonably well. It had been a slow start due to the sheer numbers of fellow lunatics on the course but the first incline of the morning had thinned the pack down and I was now making much quicker progress. Although it was going to be close, I was confident of meeting my target. Heck, I was even starting to enjoy myself; the sun was shining, the scenery was stunning and the horrors of an early alarm call were a distant memory.

After negotiating a few potentially treacherous cattle girds, I came to the top of a lovely, wide grassy downhill. "Now I can make up a bit more time," I thought to myself before launching myself down the slope. Picking up speed and passing less adventurous souls, or losers as I like to call them, I suddenly realised my mistake. There was a horrid muddy patch about half way down the hill and I was heading for it with wild abandon. I had no hope of stopping - I'd just reached a speed that would've made a particularly fast cheetah jealous - and was technically out of control. "Don't worry Graeme," I thought, "all those years of mountain bike experience will see you through."

It did. But I'd forgotten that "all those years of mountain bike experience" usually involved me hurtling downhill at high speed and hitting a less moveable object. Although I did once have to make an evasive manoeuvre and jump over a rather startled sheep. But that is a whole different story. 

Now I'm not the most graceful runner at the best of times, as some race photographs will attest, with my right leg seemingly having a mind of its own, but hitting a muddy patch at Mach 3 would test even the most highly trained and ballerina-esque athlete. Instantly my legs decided they wanted to go in a whole different direction to my upper body, whilst my upper body concentrated on staying upright. Meanwhile my utterly confused arms had decided to emulate a particularly energetic windmill. On speed. But I was upright and nearly halfway through the muddy slop. God knows what it looked like to the spectators - maybe they wondered if this was part of the entertainment - but my deranged ballerina act was getting me through. Then it happened. My feet found a stable patch of ground and immediately sent my legs in a different direction. My upper half just couldn't cope with this new instruction and resolutely stayed on the same trajectory. In objection my feet went sideways, presumably to teach my insubordinate upper half a lesson, and I lost balance and hurled through the air. "This is going to be interesting," I thought as I landed on my side and slid down the hill. "Well this is better then I could've expected," I thought, adding "and it might actually improve my time!" What I hadn't seen was that I was rapidly approaching a fence and that I was slowly turning sideways.... 

If there is one thing you should know about fences, it is that they are largely immovable objects. And if there is one thing you should know about the human body, it is that when faced with the aforesaid immovable object, the immovable object is likely to come off better. Significantly better as it turns out. I hit the fence with a sickening thud and came to an abrupt halt. Miraculously, although it did hurt, I was in one piece and not sliced Tex Avery style into hundreds of potato-like chips. My first thought was "Thank goodness. I haven't wasted a lot of time!" I got up, checked my feet were still facing the same way and commenced running once again.

The incident was soon behind me and the four remaining kilometres started ticking off. But there was a problem. My side, the one that had bravely faced down the fence, was starting to grumble. The grumble soon became an ache and, disappointingly predictable, the ache became a pain. It slowed my progress but I was determined to keep going. I was going to break the hour mark, no matter what.

I kept running and regularly checking my time against progress. But even before the tenth kilometre was completed I knew it was a lost cause. I crossed the line, winning a spot prize for the most painful expression, and slumped onto the ground. Rather than thank me for stopping, my ribs howled in pain for me being a total idiot. What was I thinking?

Fractured ribs are going to keep my out of action for a while. I thought this running lark was supposed to be good for you? Recovery is going to be slow and painful but at least I've got something to look forward to..... the next race is the series is only three weeks away and it looks like a fast course. Excellent.

Oh, and my time for the last event? 1 hour and 38 seconds. If only I'd slid a little faster....

A Cold Snap

I'm never going to complain about being to hot ever again. If I even remotely hint at a whinge about the heat I give you permission to clip me about the head.

So why this open invite to physical abuse? Well for those of you not tuned to the Southern Hemisphere weather reports, New Zealand is going through a bit of a cold snap. 'Big deal!' I hear you think before adding 'So it's got a bit cool has it? What, you might even have to put a cardy on?' The sarcasm would be fully justified, except it is proper cold, even in the normally balmy Auckland.

OK, so maybe it hasn't hit 20 degrees below, like it did in the South Island - which you must admit is a little on the chilly side. At that temperature even Geordies might be tempted to put on a jacket. Only a summer weight one mind and then adding, 'It's not as if it's cold like. It's just somewhere to put me keys'. No, so it maybe not quite Arctic.... I beg your pardon Antarctic weather but Auckland has been getting down as low as 5 degrees at night. I know, but before you start accusing me of turning into a southern ponce, just hear me out....

Firstly, five degrees is cold for Auckland. Almost frosty in fact. Any colder and the powers that be would be seriously considering investing in a gritter. Admittedly, the temperatures get up to around 14 degrees during the day but by-eck the nights are cold.

Secondly the houses are, in general, not insulated. We all live in, what can only be described as, sheds. Wooden walls, single glazed windows and corrugated tin roofs. Great for the summer but fuck all use when the weather turns cold. Which it has. Mind you, these are £1m sheds and not something that you can pick up from B&Q. Or rather Mitre10. But despite the eye-watering price tag, when the temperature drops, it's almost warmer outside. 

Thirdly, not that you needed anymore convincing I'm sure, there is no central heating. In some cases house owners have installed a contraption called a heat pump (think hot and cold air blower fitted to the wall and you'd be somewhere close) and this is the sole source of heating. Others, such as the one we reside in, has nowt. Other than the two portable electric heaters we bought last week, we rely on layers of clothes and moving around a lot. It's good exercise but very tiring at the same time. Meal times can be a little hazardous with all that moving about keeping warm - soup is definitely off the menu after the scolding incident last night. Experts tell you that heat pumps are very efficient. They have to be because most of the heat they generate pisses out of the single glazed windows and un-insulated walls. Thankfully New Zealand gets a lot of its electricity from geothermal power so it's not the environmental disaster it could be.

Are you convinced? No? Well how about that for the last two nights, even with the heaters in full blast, our living room managed to get up to a practically stifling ten degrees. It was so warm I had to take one of my three jumpers off. 

On the positive side, I'm very clean. The bath or shower is the warmest place to be at the moment. Not looking forward to our next water bill though, and I'm starting to resemble a prune. But it's worth it for a quick defrost. The other positive is that I'm getting through a lot of work at the moment - getting a flyer at 4:30 has lost its appeal somewhat. Even on a Friday. 'Don't you have a home to go to?,' come the witty remarks. 'Actually no - I have a shed in the middle of the street!'. Luxury.

A Week In Oz - Parklife

I Have I told you how fantastic the Parkrun phenomenon is? No? Well it's a phenomenon. In every sense of that word. It's incredible to think that, what started as a favour an injured runner did for his mates in a park in London, has resulted in us travelling across Sydney at 7:30am to take part in a run.

Well trying to travel across Sydney. Unfortunately Sydney Transport has decided to chose this particular morning to close down the urban trains for, what I imagine is quoted as, essential maintenance. 

Not to be outdone, and miss out on a chance to register another different continent's Parkrun, we ended up running the last 1.2km to the start of the run. How ironic. At least it was a suitable warm up. 

But what a wonderfully way to meet with other runners and residents of the host town. It does feel strange when the run manager asks if there are any visitors from another town, as they always do prior to the start of a run, raising a hand and saying 'Yes, Auckland'. How did that happen? Odd, but in a good way I guess.

Either way we get to feel smug all day from having done some exercise. Not that we needed it particularly - we've clocked in an average of 15km per day whilst on holiday. Admittedly, we've eaten our own weight in cheese and ham sandwiches and drank enough alcohol to last a lifetime, but it's swings and roundabouts innit!

It's with some regret that tomorrow we head home to Auckland. There it is again! Home to Auckland. Home to New Zealand. How did that happen? To think we've been over here for nearly twelve months and it still makes me pause to take it all in. 

But for the time being we're in Sydney and I think we owe it too ourselves for one more look at the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House. And maybe another glass of wine. Just the one mind you. Well perhaps two - it is our last night after all.

A Week In Oz - Down from the Mountain

I know I've said this before, and no doubt you are tired of hearing me say this, but travel in and around Sydney is great value for money. For only $5.20 we were whisked, if indeed you can call a leisurely two hour journey such a thing, from Katoomba to Sydney. From a little over 1000m above sea level to a smidge above 0m sea. Well it would have to be, being a port and all that.

I dread to think what the equivalent journey would cost in the UK. You'd probably end up with an organ or two less than when you started. And arrive late. 

Arriving back into Sydney, despite being away for only a few days, felt like arriving in a whole different season. Whilst we had left in glorious sunshine, Sydney now definitely had its winter coat on and was pulling up its collective collar against the biting wind and rain. Thank goodness we had spent a few days in the mountains to acclimatise otherwise the shock may have been too much to bear. Although mid-winter temperatures rarely go below double digits in Sydney, it was still a bit of a surprise and the fact that we wore shorts and got sunburnt only five days ago seemed like a distant and unlikely memory. This time it would be long legged trousers and waterproof coats. Ah well. 

It felt good though to be back in the city but as I write this, the Friday afternoon hustle is just beginning. Let's see how long this feeling will last. Now I'm sure there's a good bar around here somewhere.....

A Week In Oz - Wentworth Falls (to Climb)

Sunshine! 

It was very unusual to wake up to a blue sky, well blue-ish anyway, and it almost knocked us off our stride. We'd always planned to get out on the trails again today but we were so taken aback by the lack of cloud that we faffed around and ended up having to practically run to the train station.

It was worth the effort, every single joule, because the walk today was stunning. And in terms of bang for kilometre totally off the chart. It was only a relatively short stroll but the views were out of this world. Stratospheric. For most of the 10k or so, the trail hugged the side of a cliff with great views across the Blue Mountains, for once not blocked by low cloud or mist. We really didn't want it to end, but for the need for some food and a toilet stop it had to.

But I feel like I have done steps today. And enough for the rest of the week. Maybe even a lifetime. The pull out of the canyon was tortuous but, with the absence of mechanical help, the only option was to haul ourselves out of the abyss. Ah well! No pain, no gain. Or so they say.

A Week In Oz - The End of the Line*

*Well almost.

After a busy and active few days we decided to take a break and have a lazy day. A day to recuperate and kick back was just what we needed. 

So it was a perfect opportunity to jump on the train and head up the line to Mount Victoria - not quite the end but certainly the highest point. 

The weather was threatening without actually carrying through, but by the time we got off the train at our destination the first spits of rain were starting to fall. Still, we were promised a cosy, historic village so imagined that we could always pop into a tea shop to shelter from any downpour. We imagined that. But that's all we could do. The cosy, historic village never materialised. Instead there were a few scattered shops, a hotel and a cafe, all sliced in two by the busy Great Western Highway. 

Not to be defeated, and to make the best of a bad job, we headed out on a short train to Pulpit Rock. It a worthy detour with great views across the Blue Mountains, but now the rain was definitely falling. Choosing not to linger we headed back into the sleepy town. No, scratch that, comatose town. It hadn't got any livelier in our absence and the only highlight was seeing a teenage slip and slide on his arse whilst running across the highway. Small things.

By the time we reached the station once again, it was absolutely pouring down. Stepping on the Sydney bound train and out of the rain, we had been in Mount Victoria a total of 65 minutes. Well I suppose we asked for it. We're not really suited to lazy days so perhaps this was a warning.

Right, that's resolved. Tomorrow we hit the trails once again and be thankful that our rest day was over and done with!

 

A Week In Oz - Rain. Forest

Stepping into Katoomba is like stepping back in time, especially the walk from the quaint old station to the YHA. Other than an Aldi, which is a welcome addition from the choice of supermarkets in New Zealand, all of the shops and cafes are locally owned, independent establishments without a whiff of corporate contamination. Although this can result in an over reliance on one particular type of business, but on the whole it's for the better. But really, just how many coffee shops can one small town support? Or cake. Are a dozen or so cake shops really necessary? Just how much cake can one town eat. Certainly the locals don't look like they live on a diet that consists wholly of sweet baked products. But there are an awful lot of cake shops. It did give us a bit of a dillema when we first arrived as we lost nearly an hour to cake window shopping, carefully comparing and contrasting the offerings from around a dozen different retailers. It was exhausting work but the custard tart was reward enough.

But, as well as the retail approach, the other reason that Katoomba is a blast from the past is the forest. Sorry, Bush. Staring down from Echo Point into the vast expanse of forest, sorry Bush, I got the feeling that I was looking at a prehistoric landscape. Untouched, except for the cable car and train service that ferried people from the car park to the valley bottom. But apart from those modern intruders, the valley looked every bit like it had just come out of a Jurrasic Park movie. Seriously, I probably wouldn't have been at all surprised if I'd seen a T-Rex stomping around the valley or if I was buzzed by a Pterodactyl. Well maybe a little surprised, but the setting was perfect.

So perfect, in fact, that we just had to explore it. And so we set off around the ridge, following a well marked trail that would take us down into the valley bottom, around the base of the cliff face and then finally back up the steps to the Scenic World facility. It was so well marked, we were assured, that a map torn from the back of a free brochure  would be all we needed. The route was so well marked that even a child could follow it. 

We got lost coming coming out of the car park. How embarrassing. Mistaking a random track for the path we set off confidently and, after about a whole five minutes of walking, we emerged from the Bush back into the car park we had just left. After a hurried glance at the map we realised our mistake and set off once again, rather less assuredly, in the correct direction.

Blimey it doesn't half rain in the bush. The increasingly heavier rain added to the other worldly feeling and sense of not belonging in that environment. Trees stretched skyward, parakeets squawked and water ran down every available nook and cranny onto the dark forest floor. Only the occasional sign broke the spell of being way-back in time when dinosaurs roamed the earth and mobile phones were a figment in someone's imagination. The signs did, at least, serve a purpose and offered some useful advice about which plants to expect to see and notes on which animals could be encountered. As well as the usual collection of Tree Frogs, Bush Rats and Possums, four types of snakes could be encountered including the Death Adder. Now I'm no expert, and maybe they are perfectly pleasant creatures, but I have no real desire to meet a Death Adder. What does one do if confronted by a Death Adder? A-ha, thankfully the sign also gave some top advice on what to do in this situation; "If you encounter a snake on your walk it's probably best to leave it alone". Let's file that in the 'No shit Sherlock' category and move on.

Thankfully, or disappointingly, we didn't encounter any such wildlife and by the time we reached the steps back to the cliff top the total sighting was a resolute zero. No doubt the rain had put them off. But now to solve the real dilemma of the day. Should we take the transport back to the top or climb the 1000 steps back to civilisation? Surprisingly the transport option won by a ratio of 3:1. It must've been the rain as I'm sure in any other circumstances we'd all have happily forgo the pleasure of riding in a comfortable mechanised mode of transport and instead elected to sweat a little bit more and clamber under our own steam to the top. And just to demonstrate how easily this could be done, one member of the group took this option.

The rest were forced to spend $16 on the  ride back to the top on the worlds steepest railway, a decision made all the more easy by the promise of tea and cake at the top. In a choice between cake or pain, cake is always going to win. Unless the cake in question is Battenberg in which case I'd gladly climb any number of stairs in the pouring rain and jab needles in my arms whilst doing so in order to avoid that particular sugary delight.

The top was crowded once again with coach parties who seemed oblivious to the natural beauty that lay below and were more occupied with taking selfies on their mobile phones. Ah well, it's their loss. Such is modern life. To busy trying to capture to experience it. Maybe if a dinosaur wandered into sight they'd finally drop their phones. Maybe. Or maybe they'd try and get the T-Rex to pose in their photo. Hmmm.

A Week In Oz - Katoomba!

Now this feels like a Graeme and Sarah holiday; ham and cheese sandwiches, biscuits and a train journey. Sydney was really loud and busy this morning and we felt a little under attack, enhanced no doubt by us feeling tired.

So it's quite a relief to be getting out of the city, at least for a while anyway, and head out to the mountains by train.

You can get a great deal of information about a place from the windows of a train carriage. Much more than guidebooks and websites can possibly impart. Glimpses into parts of lives and lifestyles that otherwise would've been beyond view; back yards, gardens, streets and shops. The corners of people's lives that are shared with family and the passengers on a passing train. A casual invitation to wonder what it must be like to live in that town, shop in other shoes, work in the offices and relax in the cafes and bars. Only train travel allows such polite intrusion. And all whilst munching on ham and cheese sandwiches.

The train journey from Sydeny to Katoomba, at least the urban part, was remarkable in its unremarkable-ness. It all looked familiar and strangely European. If I'd have fallen asleep and woken an hour into the journey I'd have sworn that I was somewhere in Northern Europe, undoubtedly remarking that it was tremendous value  for $8.80.

But it's a different story once the urban landscape gives way to the foothills and the train begins its slow pull upwards.  Slowly the formed, man-made environment gives way to bush. And my goodness there is a lot of it. Pretty soon bush dominates the landscape, punctuated with only the occasional glimpses of the state highway and small mountain towns. Miraculous really that within only two short hours of leaving the urban bustle of Sydney, we step off the train into the cool mountain air of Katoomba.....

A Week In Oz - A Manly Pursuit

I'm not really one for spending a lot of time on beaches. Sure I like a walk along a sandy bay as much as the next man but I wouldn't say that I was at home there. I mean I'm not about to don speedos and hurl myself into the foam or lie face down and soak up the rays for hours on end. That would drive me potty. Or rather more potty. But I am inexplicably drawn to them. A moth to the proverbial flame.

But I don't think it's the beach as such, but more the allure of the open sea. The infinite horizon and what lies beyond. It's either that or the opportunity to stare at bronzed, semi-naked bodies. Err let's stick with the horizon thing.

Whatever the reason, today was a beach-tactic experience. And all for the bargain price of $2.50. Sydney's transport system is a wonder and, once you have a Opal card, the maximum cumulative fare for a Sunday is $2.50 or, if you prefer, £1.25. So today we took two buses, three ferries and a train all for the price of packet of crisps and a Mars Bar. 

Although the main aim of today's wandering a was the iconic Bondi Besch, which was nice and all that, it was the amusingly title Manly Beach that was the real star. Maybe it was the name, accompanied by enticingly named restaurants such as Manly Hotel, Manly Chemists and my particular favourite Manly Italian Restaurant. Or maybe it was the fact that, as dusk descended on the little seaside suburb, the sand took on a luminous glow and the subdued lighting  cast soft shadows. You decide. 

Just like our adopted home town on Auckland, Sydney is blessed with a multitude of beaches, all within striking distance via a great ferry service. And Manly surely takes the crown. I've not seen the rest of the beaches, but this must surely be first on the list to visit. Besides, how could you not when the ferry service proudly boasts 'Welcome to the Famous Manly Ferry Service'. Indeed.

 

A Week In Oz - Getting A Flyer

You've got to admit that it's pretty special to be able to leave work at four in the afternoon (ok, maybe just a little before four, but nobody was watching) and arrive in a new continent in time for a pint and a bite to eat.

No? Well I do. It may have been only a 'short! hop over the Tasman Sea but it was still a three and a half hour flight. Yes New Zealand's nearest neighbour is still two in-flight movies away. One if you decided to attempt 'Lord of The Rings'. But thanks to the international time zones knocking two hours off the time, there is enough...well....time..... to eat and be merry once you arrive. 

The most striking thing about arriving into Sydney after ten months in Auckland is just how familiar it is. It looks and feels just like a British city. Only with kangaroos. It does though; the underground direction signs are a direct copy of those in London, traffic is still on the left and a squizz over the map reveals names like Liverpool, Darlington, Hyde Park and Kings Cross. I'm half expecting to see a red double decker come around the corner. Even the bridge looks strangely familiar.

And although it's a national landmark, the Sydney Harbour Bridge is actually a Boro lad. North-east born and bred. You see, it was designed and constructed by a Middlesbrough firm Dorman Long and Co Ltd. Fresh from the success of designing and building the Tyne Bridge, that great piece of Smoggie engineering in the wary of Geordieland, they were awarded the tender to design and construct the Sydney Harbour Bridge. And it's not only that. The four huge hinges that support the bridge, weighing not an insubstantial 300T each, were manufactured in Darlington by the Darlington Forge Co. It's very much a northern lad, or lass if you prefer, living down south. 

Standing here, looking at iconic image of the bridge and the opera house seems almost surreal. It's an image I've seen many, many times but I have to pinch myself to realise that I'm actually here. In Sydney. Of all if the things we've done over the past 10 months, I suppose it's typical that an engineering wonder should really hammer it home.